These Lines  #123
October 18,  1998

These lines cannot hold
my circles of thought nor
can these lines
curve the corners
of my mouth up

They cannot talk but
make for a damn good
ventriloquist

These lines
solid horizons of mascara
only record and blink
a blackness of past soil
and sprout milky green stems
of emotion that blanket
my feet when they are cold

my toes; pink, a curled womb
that digs tight between
the lines
lies a comfort of white and black
and my thoughts
that lay naked in between